The Witch's Angel
by The Magical Jedi from Paris
Summary: AU Claire is a 14 year old third year from France, forced out by the Ministry three years prior for magic they didn't understand. She misses the man she left there, but he is coming for her. But he has to get through the Slytherin Prince to reach his love. Contains lots of French, love and jealousy!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Reminiscing

The train seems to drag on along the track. _How more dull can it be?_ I lean my head out the window and watch the world trail by. _My darling._ I cry in my mind, pining for the love I left in France. _Oh maestro how I miss you._ I adjust my knee-length black dress dress and pull my robe tighter around me.

"If it ain't little Claire Belle." The familiar snarky voice enters my otherwise peaceful compartment. Draco settles himself across from me, and his lackeys Crabbe and Goyle box us in. "You ready for the new year?"

I sigh and ignore his ramblings as much as possible. He babbles on and on about the things he had accomplished in the summer, varying from getting new house elves to fear him to travelling to mainland Europe. I envied him, at least on the latter accomplishment. I was raised in France until I was 11, then I was sent to Hogwarts. I was pushed out of my own country by foreigners.

"Are you even listening to me, Claire?" Draco's narcissistic personality spills into his voice.

"Non. S'il vous plaît me laisser seul, crétine." I say in French just to watch his confusion as he tries to translate it. "Please leave me alone." I translate all but that last word: cretin.

He scowls, but makes no effort to move. "But I enjoy seeing you." He says seductively. I roll my eyes and stare out the window. The world is dark outside, and within seconds I begin to feel extremely cold. "C'est froid." (It's cold.) I whisper, watching my breath rise.

"What?" Draco demands. Then the train jolts to a stop. I land in Draco's lap, much to my dismay, and he engulfed me in his arms.

I pushed against his hold and broke free. The chill in the air intensifies, and the glass on the door is covered in ice as someone passes the door. Another passes, but the third stays. The knob to the compartment turns and the door opens in a painstakingly slow manner.

Before us stands a creature draped in darkness, its face covered in shadows. "Détraqueur …" (Dementor...) My eyes widen in horror. The dementor searches our faces, but stops at mine.

It creeps closer, and Draco crouches as much as he can into his seat. The demon reaches out for me, but my oak wand is already pointed at it. "Lumière Divine!" I shout the words my maestro had once used to protect me from a similar creature.

The brilliant white light explodes out of the tip and cloaks the creature in a white blaze. It shrieks and flees out of the compartment, where the screams are joined by several others. While Draco, his goons and the compartment next to us gawk at me, I return to my seat and go back into silence.

My maestro floods my mind, his very image filling my soul with his comforting music. The infamous full face black mask may hide part of him from me, but his burning ember eyes give me more emotion than any man I ever met. He has been with me for six years, ever since I was eight. The last memory I have of being with my maestro begins to seep in, and I fight my hardest not to cry.

_"Encore une fois, l'amour." (Again, love.) Maestro commanded. He played the piano once more for the aria he was teaching me. I took a deep breath and did my best to feel the music._

"O Fortuna

velut luna

statu variabilis

semper crescis

aut decrescis

vita detestabilis

nunc obdurat

et tunc curat

ludo mentis aciem,

egestatem,

potestatem

dissolvit ut glaciem." _My voice rang across the azure lake and Maestro absorbed every second of it._

_He lifted his fingers away and turned to me with a pleased expression on his face. "Bien fait, mon cher. Vous avez dépassé les attentes que j'avais pour vous." (Well done, my dear. You have exceeded the expectations I had for you.)_

_I blushed at such a generous comment and looked at the ground. "Je n'aurais pas pu si vous n'aviez pas accepté de m'enseigner, Maestro." (I could not have if you had not agreed to teach me, Maestro.)_

_He cupped my cheeks and laid a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Vous avez raison." (You are right.) He said jokingly. I chuckled, and I could tell he was smiling under that mask._

_The echo of feet distracted us, and Maestro pulled me close to him protectively. Many police flooded the cavern, despite Maestro's many defensive spells. One man, rather fat and slow, was accompanied by my mother. "Maman, qu'est-ce qui se passe?" (Mama, what is happening?)_

_The fat man said something to her in English, which at the time I couldn't understand very well. She seemed upset, but she still translated it. "Selon cet homme, vous êtes un mineur et avez utilisé la magie qui est extrêmement dangereux. Il dit qu'il doit vous emmener loin." (According to this man, you are a minor and have used the magic that is extremely dangerous. He says he must take you away.)_

_"Non!" Maestro cried. He stood in front of me defensively and had his ebony wand in hand. "Vous ne serez pas emporter mon ange!" (You will not take my angel!) He brought smoke around us and he pulled me towards the back wall._

_Another hand grabbed me and pulled me away. "Maestro!" I screamed as they dragged me into the lake._

_Maestro dove through the fog and latched onto my wrist. Several enforcers grabbed him to restrain him, and he had to release me to fight them. I thrashed like a fish in a net, trying to get back to him as I knew he was trying to get to me. "Ne m'oubliez pas, mon ange!" (Do not forget me, my angel!) He cried as the darkness consumed me._

Much against my effort, a tear streaks my face. _I never will forget, Maestro._ I reach out to him mentally. A soothing feeling envelopes me in its arms and I know it is him.

The castle that has been my home for two years breaches in the distance. Its familiar stone towers and high walls do not make me think of a prestigious school, but a prison. _Year three,_ I thought forlornly, _let's see what you bring._

* * *

I'm saying this now, I do not own Harry Potter, Phantom, any of their characters or the dong O Fortuna. They belong to their respective owners. I own Claire and the plot line.


	2. Chapter 2

The food around the table looks divine, and while I wait my stomach growls. Pansy Parkinson sits on my left, Crabbe on my right, and Draco in front of me. He makes inaudible passes at me, but I only roll my eyes and listen to the headmaster. He announces several changes this year, but none that really affect me. "Enjoy." He says, sitting down to eat his meal.

The hall becomes a battlefield, snatching food out of hands and off of plates. I grab a chicken leg and some mashed potatoes, along with some divinity candies. I take a large bite out of the the chicken and shove a heaping helping of potato in once that is down. Draco stares at me in horror and/or admiration. "Haven't eaten much, have we?" He teases, and the whole Slytherin class bursts out laughing.

I smirk. "I just love good food." I retort before going back to my food. Honestly, I haven't eaten a lot since I left Paris, and then when I'd leave Hogwarts there would be days I just wouldn't eat because the food wasn't any good. It's miserable, but I can live with it.

Draco smirks and says something, but I'm not paying attention to him. Once I place the last divinity onto my tongue I briskly exit the Great Hall.

Tucked away in the folds on my robe is the one object I've clung to since I was taken to England; a little hand mirror. I slip into an empty classroom and stare into it. My reflection ripples and she smiles up at me. "Angel of Music, guide and guardian; Grant to me your glory. Angel of Music, do not shun me. Come to me, strange angel." I sing to the mirror. It becomes alive with anticipation, and my image swirls into darkness.

I had received an anonymous package two years ago with this mirror in it. One night as I was looking into it and thinking of Maestro, his image appeared. He was just as surprised as I was, but we considered it a blessing. We would talk with each other for hours at a time, singing and laughing and talking about current events. He didn't like when I'd tell him about some of the Slytherin girls who would pick on me, but he kept his cool.

That darkness in the mirror is spotted with yellow eyes that seem to glow. "Salut, mon petit ange." (Hi, my little angel.) He greets.

"Bonsoir, Maestro." (Good evening, Maestro) I smile.

"J'imagine que vous êtes une fois de plus à l'école?" (I imagine that you are once more in school?) He poses the statement. I nod sadly, knowing this marked our third year of separation. "Tu me manques." (I miss you.) He whispers, stroking the mirror.

"Tu me manques, aussi." (I miss you, too.) I sigh, staring into those awe-fulling ember eyes. "Pensez-vous que votre emprisonnement durera beaucoup plus longtemps?" (Do you think your imprisonment will last much longer?) I ask, wishing to be reunited with my love.

He shakes his head. "Je viendrai pour vous bientôt, mon ange doux et beau." (I will come to you soon, my sweet and beautiful angel.) He begins to glare at the wall behind me. "Et quand je le fais, je te garderai tu avec moi. Nul ne peut vous prendre à nouveau." (And when I do, I will keep you with me. No one can take you again.)

"_Say you'll share with me_

_One love, one lifetime._

_Say the word and I_

_Will follow you._" I sing softly, wanting no interference from the world beyond our mirror.

"_Say you want me_

_With you now and always,_

_Promise me that all_

_You say is true._" He replies.

And then together, in shared hush and still breath, our voices blend into one, "_Love me, that's all I ask of you._"

I have to break the connection, because the longer I am away the more suspicious people will become. I tuck the mirror away and slip through the door like water through a crate. I return to the Great Hall to find my fellow students gathering what few scraps of food could be placed in their sleeves before filing out with Prefects heading them. I conform to the Slytherin line and march with my house. We step through the labyrinthian basement to the old portrait that played defender to our common room, and with one word, "Pure-Blood," we enter into the dark green and silver decorated room.


End file.
